


you know what they say about subtext

by cloudfree



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Character Study, Coda, Crack, Episode: s14e20 Moriah, Gen, God and Amara walk into a hotel room..., God being a terrible writer, The Darkness was never sealed away, bad tropes, pretty shitty one if you ask me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 15:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18607711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudfree/pseuds/cloudfree
Summary: “And this was my good suit, too.” Chuck complains.





	you know what they say about subtext

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! After yesterday's episode I needed to write a Chuck-centric piece. I feel like he's been running out of ideas ever since the first Apocalypse, and I guess you could say that he finally wrote himself into a corner haha. This is an imagining of the conversation God might've had with Amara in Reno immediately after siccing those monsters on the Winchesters. Hope you find it even slightly amusing :)
> 
> Also disclaimer: I have nothing against RPF or self-inserts. 
> 
> Happy trails!

~

He goes straight to Reno, nursing his wounded pride and a hole in his jacket sleeve near the shoulder.

After what just happened, what with his characters acting up then way they did and the way he may have overreacted a tiny bit - not his best moment, he has to admit - man, he just needs an ear to lay it on.

Every writer needs some critique, after all. 

She’s peering out from behind a hotel room balcony overlooking the sinuous glory of the city before her, black dress billowing ominously in the wind. He’s told her more than once that she’s not stylistically restricted to that one garment; maybe she should go shopping and expand her wardrobe so she can stop looking like an edgy Goth queen for once. Hell if she’ll listen.

“How’d it go?” Amara says without turning around. She already knows. 

Chuck sidles up to her and throws her a bitter, sidelong glare. “How’s it look,” he says resentfully.

He almost regrets ending it the way he did. Might’ve been a little unfair on his part to pit his star players, star players they may have been, against fifteen years worth of a horde of monsters. Vengeful, and recently released from decades of torment to boot.

(Not for nothing, but they’ve been through worse, courtesy of yours truly. He’s pretty sure they’ll find a way to survive this.) 

To her, he probably looks as unhinged as he feels. His hair is mussed up and wild, there’s a bullet hole in the sleeve of his jacket, and he’s always been pretty expressive without meaning to be so he figures that he looks pretty pissed off right now.

She glances him up and down, takes a sip of her Cosmopolitan with a nonchalant air, but Chuck can tell she’s enjoying herself. “Thought you were supposed to be the all-controlling writer, dear brother.”

“And I am, _Amara,”_ Chuck snaps. “Just...just need some time to get the story back on track, that’s all.” His voice wavers slightly, but they both ignore it.

“I told you not to waste too much time on those filthy little monkeys of yours,” Amara shrugs, “Sooner or later they’d get too cocky and end up doing more damage than they’re worth. _Especially since you’ve given them the option to..._ ” She says that last part under her breath.

“I was expecting it.” Chuck frowns at the tear in his shirt, kneading at it with the pad of his thumb. “They didn’t hurt me.”

Amara looks at him pointedly, straw in mouth. “Only your pride.”

_Were you expecting them to break script?_ She doesn’t ask. _Were you expecting them to turn on you, when you forced them to choose?_

She gives him a meaningful look, then turns back to the landscape and splays her arms out across the railing. Chuck says nothing.

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t foreseen the whole part where Lucifer went and possessed the president - it was funny for a while, he had to admit - and screwed that pretty arm-candy secretary with the big doe eyes. Maybe it was a bit of a surprise when she actually got knocked up and kept the little crotch goblin, but things have a weird way of turning out sometimes. He’s a writer, he rolls with it. Creativity goes in unexpected ways. 

And yeah, so what if he’s been making stuff up on the fly for the past decade or so. No one has to know.

The warm afternoon air fans their faces and sends Amara’s hair flowing carelessly away from her face. “They’re going to try to fight you, you know.” She says, resting her head on her forearms. Overhead, the clouds pass by lazily.

Chuck laughs. “I think it’s kind of cute, if you want me to be honest.”

Hands on was never really his thing. But he’s had to admit that, having watched this universe for a while, things are getting kind of interesting. Setting aside the fact that he’s gone and directly put himself into the story, something he’d vowed never to do since that one disastrous excursion in an alternate-universe Soho so many resets ago.

_Your favorite work is a self-insert. What does that say about you?_

Though he’d broken nearly all the rules of good story-telling at this point, he finds he doesn’t care so much anymore.

His sister sends him a glare so withering it would make Sam Winchester proud. “You might want to actually take this seriously,” she carps, “having given them free will and all that.” 

“It’s only the _illusion_ of free will, Amara!” Chuck says, exasperated. “I’m still the one in control, it's not like they can actually kill me or anything. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” 

“You’ve made a lot of beings angry with the way things have been going,” Amara points out irritatedly. “The Winchesters can be pretty charismatic when they want to be. What if they start consolidating power against you? Where’s your ‘illusion’ then?”

“Beings that, a) have no dominion over my realm, or b) literally _cannot kill me_ because I created them (and they might as well not exist if I didn’t want them to).” Chuck huffs. He’s gotten really good at articulating brackets in linguistic speech - one of the many perks of being God. “And just because you had a raging hard-on for one of them doesn’t mean others will be so eager.”

Amara’s eyes flash dangerously. “Watch yourself, little brother.”

“As the humans are so fond of saying on the internet nowadays, ‘no, you.’” Chuck says snottily. He wants to laugh. Shot with the divine equivalent of an air gun, and here he is getting lectured by his sister on _conflict_ , for fuck’s sake. He eats, sleeps, and breathes conflict. Schadenfreude is in his _job description._

Amara steps away from the railing, her face carefully void of expression. But Chuck knows his sister well. She’s worried about him, though she’d never admit it. And he appreciates the sentiment, though he wishes she’d believe him when he says he’s got it all under control. They both know how reckless he can be sometimes.

“The Winchesters are my cash cow, my bread and butter, Amara,” Chuck says, “And yeah, I screwed up. But the show must go on. And it will, I promise. Just the way I wanted it to go.”

Amara gives him a long look. Then she sighs in resignation. “Well, I’ve spoken my peace. Do as you shall. And, brother?”

“Mm?”

“Please leave me out of your little games this time, whatever you do.”

Chuck relaxes. “Fair enough.”

He’d been running low on inspiration a few chapters ago and roping Amara into his story admittedly wasn’t the _best_ idea ever, though it worked pretty well in hindsight. Still wasn’t worth having her be mad at him for years over ‘being cast as the villain, the " _horny femme fatale villain_ _"_  as she so graciously put it.

“Putting me into your story is like writing RPF,” Amara scowls, oblivious to Chuck’s inner monologue. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I deserve that. But let me make it up to you, okay?”

Amara quirks an eyebrow at him.

With a snap of his fingers his red suit gets replaced with something more snazzy. He’s wearing a handsome three piece black suit, with a light blue dress shirt. He could’ve just fixed the tear in his old jacket, but honestly, red’s gone out of style.

Chuck smiles. “How ‘bout dinner and a show?”

~

**Author's Note:**

> Be sure to hit that Kudos button if you liked!


End file.
